


A Little Bit of Vengeance

by mkidwell



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: After the swap, Beating the shit out of Gabriel, Crowley's pissed, Everyone's pissed really, No Sex, No Smut, Post-Canon, Revenge, Violence, alas, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 15:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mkidwell/pseuds/mkidwell
Summary: (Some violence/blood but nothing graphic. Language.)Following the swap, Crowley gives Gabriel his comeuppance … and then Aziraphale appears.





	A Little Bit of Vengeance

It was awfully cold out in the fields of Megiddo.

It was dark. Twilight. A coyote howled in the distance as darkness settled over the rocks and cacti. A gust of wind kicked up some sand, spurring Gabriel awake.

Gabriel came to, blinking hard, his hair ruffled and his body slumped over like a sack of vegetables. With a groan, he slowly brought his torso backward, aching when he felt his body’s muscles scream. He let out a raspy exhale, realizing he had bounds on his wrists. He tugged at them and let out a _fuck_ when he realized they were not going to budge. He blinked again. He had no energy for a miracle, either. 

While he couldn’t see his surroundings well, he was able to feel the chair beneath him. It was hard and uninviting. As another breeze blew, he shivered, suddenly wanting more than the cashmere coat that enveloped him. His grey scarf had disappeared.

Gabriel let out a surprised shout when a flame sparked at his feet. Gabriel tried to push himself back, his heels grazing the dirt and sand beneath them, kicking small pebbles toward the flame. But the chair wasn’t budging. The flames roared loud before dying down into a feisty bonfire. 

Under his wrists, Gabriel noticed the arms of the chair shone in the fireglow. Gold. What was this, a throne? He looked past the fire and noticed dead shrubs, more cacti.

“Meggido. _What_ the fuck.”

He tried to shake free of the binds again, and this time he was rewarded with pain singeing his wrists. He stopped his attempts when he heard footsteps in the sand.

The sound of a clearing throat. “Excuse me. You’re in my seat.”

Gabriel let his eyes wander toward the voice. Crowley stood before him, aglow in the fire. The flames flickered in his dark glasses. And he was wearing Gabriel’s silky scarf.

Gabriel turned his head to face him. He let out a laugh. “The demon Crowley. Of course.”

Crowley returned Gabriel’s words with a smirk. “Nice to see you, too. I’m sssso glad you could make it.” The demon clenched his fists as he started to pace around his golden throne.

“Well, Meggido’s not too out of the way … Say, did you want to have a chat?” Gabriel snapped. “I’m all ears.”

Crowley stopped walking and stared at Gabriel, still flexing his fists. The dirt crunched beneath his boots. He sniffed.

“No. We have nothing to discuss.”

Crowley’s fist slammed hard into Gabriel’s jaw. Gabriel let out a grunt. Crowley glared at him while Gabriel unceremoniously spit onto the ground. 

“Did that feel good?” Gabriel said. He shook in the chair, his rage building.

“Oh, did it.” Crowley cracked his knuckles, hissed. “But not as good as this.”

The demon landed blow after blow, gritting his teeth with every strike. He ignored Gabriel’s cries and yelps, refusing any mercy. Gabriel in turn, refused to beg for mercy anyway. He was a proud archangel; he wouldn’t give Crowley the satisfaction. The moon gleamed overhead, silently watching Crowley’s reckoning.

Gabriel, bloodied and beaten, let out a laugh as Crowley panted, shaking out the cramps in hand. He had cuts along his forehead, and above his temples, in addition to a fresh black eye. A thin line of blood fell from his mouth.

“I’m not sure what this is about,” Gabriel said before swinging his head to let it loll to the side. “But this wouldn’t happen to involve some holy water, would it?”

Crowley rolled his eyes and seethed, “This isn’t about me.”

“Not about you? Then—” Gabriel squinted at the demon for a moment, then his eyebrows slowly traveled heavenward. “Oh. What, Aziraphale?” Gabriel chuckled. Crowley’s lip curled. 

“What’s that soft, failure of an angel—”

 _CRACK!_ Crowley socked him in the nose, very likely shattering the bone. Gabriel swore loudly, repeatedly, hissing in pain at Crowley. He let out a snarl.

“So it is true. You have gone native.”

“How can you call yourself one of God’s angels?” Crowley demanded. He now stood in the bonfire and the flames licked his legs. “All he wanted was to avoid the war. Avoid the end—”

“I don’t _fuck_ with the Great! Plan!” Gabriel shouted. “And _he_ did. _Both_ of you assholes. I don’t _question_ God. I don’t question. Lest I want to become a filthy, foul, disgusting demon like you.”

Something snapped in Crowley. His punches and blows took on a new fury as they landed on their marks again, barely heard over the roaring fire. It was a miracle Gabriel was still sitting up. This time when Crowley stopped pummeling the archangel, he grabbed a handful of Gabriel’s hair and yanked, forcing Gabriel’s eyes to meet his slitted pupils behind his lenses. He ignored the flecks of blood on his borrowed scarf. Crowley squinted.

“You really think you and I are that much different?”

Crowley shoved him aside. Gabriel watched as he reached into his black blazer and produced a vial.

A vial of fire.

Gabriel’s eyes widened, the first look of fear that evening. Crowley smiled. The bottle’s glow was constant, a bright orange that made the bonfire before them pale in comparison.

“Oh … no.”

A wide, wide grin stretched across Crowley’s face. “Oh, yes. Afraid of a little hellfire, are we, Gabriel?”

Gabriel yelped as Crowley grabbed his hair again, the demon’s body pressed against his, now cheek-to-cheek with the archangel. He held the vial to their faces, inches from their noses. Gabriel could feel its angry heat.

“N-no—please—” Gabriel heaved.

Crowley interrupted, “Just picked this up a few days ago. It doesn’t take much to do the job, no. I certainly don’t need a bloody wind tunnel of hellfire to take you out.”

“Crowley—”

“You angels are absolute bastards. Willing to take out one of your own.” Crowley stepped off from Gabriel and took off his glasses, tucking it into his jacket pocket. His golden eyes stared at Gabriel, taking in the sight of the beaten angel.

Gabriel stammered, “I-If you kill me, Crowley, Heaven will come after you. They’re probably coming right now—”

“No one is coming,” Crowley said with a strange calmness. Gabriel winced because he knew it was true. He felt it. “It’s just you and me. And you’re going to pay for what you did to him.”

“And you care this much because—because.” Gabriel searched Crowley’s face for the answer. Crowley gripped the vial.

“Because … you … love him?”

Gabriel took in a breath when he felt a brief flash of love. It was weirdly soothing after all the punches and scratches. Crowley glared.

“Impossible.” He shook his head, incredulous. “You’re a demon. You can’t love,” he spat.

Crowley laughed. “You said it yourself. Native. And while I enjoyed this, we’re done here.” The demon reached for the cork in the vial. Gabriel let out a shout, struggling against the chair once more. “Ciao, Gabr—”

“ _Crowley!_ Stop!”

Crowley turned around. Aziraphale stood before them, his eyes wide in horror. His pocket watch gleamed in the firelight. Given the fury in the angel’s voice, Crowley expected a certain flaming sword at Aziraphale’s side.

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale strode over to the pair, his lips pursed, shoes crunching sand. As he approached the fire he gradually became illuminated. His pocket watch gleamed in the firelight. Beneath the round moon, his bright blond hair seemed to shine too. He dusted off his frock coat and looked at the demon.

“Crowley, that’s enough,” he said, his words rushing out in a hushed whisper.

Crowley’s mouth opened a bit. So did Gabriel’s.

“But. Gabriel … deserves to die,” Crowley said, shaking his head, his eyes losing their rage.

“You’re not killing anybody,” came the Principality’s response. Aziraphale looked down at Gabriel, almost marveling at his bruises and lashes. Gabriel shut his mouth, his lips forming a tight, purple line.

“Hello, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said softly.

The archangel spit at the ground. “Aziraphale.” Crowley glared.

“I believe my friend here has made his point.” Aziraphale’s clasped his hands together, letting them rest above his stomach. “We are going to spare your life tonight.”

Gabriel stared at the angel. “Why?”

“Yeah, why?” Crowley hissed. He pinched the neck of the vial between his thumb and index finger.

“Because,” Aziraphale said, “when the great battle comes—the big one, Heaven and Hell against humanity …” Aziraphale leaned close to Gabriel, his bright hazel eyes staring into Gabriel’s lilac ones. “I want to meet you there and destroy you then.”

Aziraphale let out a small smile and patted Gabriel’s cheek. Gabriel growled, feeling his wounds becoming aggravated by Aziraphale’s cold palm. “I’d much rather that than an eye for an eye. Don’t you?”

Gabriel remained silent. Crowley eyed both them.

“How about this,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll give you the choice. We can destroy you now, come what may … or you let us be and we’ll see you right back here, when we fight for the end days.” He pointed to the ground and gestured to their surroundings of the barren desert. “Up to you, sport.”

Gabriel looked at the vial, which now dangled precariously above his head, between Aziraphale and Crowley. He seethed with anger.

Gabriel wanted every chance to destroy Aziraphale and his “friend” himself. And if he had to wait for it …

Gabriel snarled, “Nothing would give me greater satisfaction than plucking the feathers from your wings as Heaven claims victory. As you writhe. And scream.”

A clap of hands. “Splendid!” After giving Gabriel one more firm pat to his cheek, nearly a slap, Aziraphale stepped back. He nodded to Crowley. Crowley stepped over to the archangel and whipped his scarf off his neck.

“Not really my color, anyway,” he murmured, looping the garment around Gabriel’s neck and pulling it taut at the ends, careful not too choke him too much. Aziraphale folded his arms.

“Right. Up,” Crowley said, pulling the binds away from Gabriel’s wrists. Aziraphale watched Gabriel stand up shakily, weak and sore from Crowley’s doing.

The pair stepped backward. They could sense Gabriel’s energy returning. Crowley returned his glasses to his face, turning his body toward Gabriel. He gave him curt nod.

“Gabriel. Always a pleasure,” Aziraphale said without a shred of pleasure.

Crowley stood behind Aziraphale as he unfolded his arms and let them drop to his sides. He made loose fists with his hands, just in case.

Gabriel exhaled sharply through his nose. “Fuck off.”

And Gabriel disappeared with a purple _pop!_.

• • •

Out in the fields of Meggido, the bonfire now died down to cooling embers. The moon above the angel and demon became obscured by a few clouds.

Aziraphale closed his eyes as Crowley took his seat, collapsing into it. The demon let out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping.

“You all right?” Aziraphale said. He looked over at Crowley, who sat uncomfortably in the throne.

Crowley shook his head. “I shouldn’t have done that.” The demon folded his hands, pulling them to his lap.

“Don’t say that.” Aziraphale walked over to Crowley and put a hand on his shoulder. “He got what he deserved.”

“I wanted to destroy him for what he did. What he said.”

“That doesn’t matter now. You weren’t going to kill him.”

“I would have.”

“No. You wouldn’t have.”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, who was smiling kindly at him, his eyes twinkling in the darkness; they rivaled the stars above them, the very stars Crowley made so long ago. Crowley placed his hand over Aziraphale’s, feeling a warmth press into his shoulder. He instinctively shut his eyes and held back a moan as it slowly dissipated through his arm, across his chest, to his other arm, down to his legs and feet and up to his neck, cheek, and ears. He let out a shudder as his head dropped against the throne, eliciting a soft thud.

He opened his eyes and stared up at the round, white moon. He was tired.

“Angel, really, are you all right?”

Aziraphale turned his gaze from the sky and looked at Crowley, who had just tucked his hands into his pockets. Aziraphale reached into his coat and handed him the vial that was tucked behind his lapels. Crowley miracled it away, the bottle flickering out of existence with a shimmer.

“I suppose I’ll still have my chance,” Aziraphale said, sitting up in the chair, rubbing his palms against his thighs. “Both of us.”

A gentle nod came from the demon. “We will,” Crowley assured the angel. “The true end times will come sooner than later, I bet. Do you feel better though? I bet you do, you did quite a number on him.”

“Yes, I suppose I did,” Aziraphale admitted, staring at his hands, shocked at the violence they caused. “I guess I don’t know my own strength. I wish I had done it myself, though. You know. As … myself.”

“Please. I’m still flattered,” Crowley said, shrugging. “If that made you feel powerful—”

“It did.”

“—then it doesn’t matter. You had a little bit of vengeance. As did I. It was nice seeing Gabriel quiver in his boots for a moment, over a fake flame.”

Aziraphale chuckled. He took Crowley’s hand again, allowing his thumb to stroke his knuckles. “Thank you.”

“For?” Crowley blinked.

Aziraphale paused. “For … the indulgence,” he said, finally.

Crowley held his hand and they both looked up. A starry sky awaited them, ready to be observed.

**Author's Note:**

> This a filled-out version of the following ficlet I wrote on the tumblr: https://thatoneumbrella.tumblr.com/post/185959095908/do-you-know-of-any-fics-about-crowley-getting-back Feel free to follow me for Good Omens trash.
> 
> And of course thank you for reading! With every kudos and comment, an angel gets their wings. And a demon gets a Bentley.


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